


Of Playgrounds and Proms

by GraeWrites



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Panic Attack, closeting, cursing, discussion of getting outed, parental neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 13:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15389526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraeWrites/pseuds/GraeWrites
Summary: High School AU. Nobody but Patton and Logan know that Roman and Virgil are dating. The night of their prom, Roman thinks back on his relationship with Virgil, and later finds himself with a decision to make. Romantic Prinxiety with a side of Logicality.





	Of Playgrounds and Proms

**Author's Note:**

> I am almost caught up in cross-posting from Tumblr. Heh. his was supposed to be a single scene, friends. Just one. It is now my longest Sanders Sides fic. Go figure. Shout-out to @creativenostalgiastuff on Tumblr for her help and encouragement through the long process of writing this. Hope you all like it!

“Patton, would you just hold still? I don’t want to accidentally stick you,” Logan Sanders says as he holds the lapel of his boyfriend’s gray tux, attempting to put a pin through the stem of the boutonniere: a light blue rose and baby’s breath. It compliments Patton’s white tux shirt and blue bow tie.

Patton Foster grins, his eyes bright and happy behind his thick glasses frame. “Sorry, Lo,” he says.

Logan finishes pinning the flowers to his lapel and gives his boyfriend of two years a fleeting, soft smile. He takes a step back, smoothing the front of Patton’s suit jacket before giving him a satisfied nod. Patton laughs and grabs his tie—matching Patton’s bowtie in color despite the fact that the rest of his suit and tux shirt were black—and kisses him.

Roman Prince—in a white suit with a gold vest and tie—smiles at the exchange from where he stands leaned up against the entryway to the living room.

“Get a room,” says a familiar voice coming up behind Roman. Virgil Shea moves to stand beside him, his arms just barely grazing Roman’s. It’s enough to send a flutter through his stomach. Virgil looks… exquisite, if Roman is being honest. Black tux jacket and a matching vest that lay over a violet shirt and a metallic purple tie.

Virgil’s hands ghost over Roman’s, their fingers entwining for a moment. Roman feels a familiar warmth in his chest at the touch. He remembers when they first met.

…

_September. Second grade._

“You shouldn’t do that.”

Seven year-old Roman frowns as he looks at the other seven year-old. Roman is hanging off the side of the upper level of the playset, a wooden stick he’d been using as a makeshift sword in his hand. The other boy is new to the class, Roman knows. What was his name again?

“Oh yeah?” Roman challenges, annoyed. “Why not?”

The other kid huffs, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black zip up hoodie. “Something bad could happen,” he explains.

Roman rolls his eyes. “The ground is lava, you know. So… you’ve burned up because of the lava and I don’t have to listen to you.” He valiantly swings an arm out, now only holding on with one hand.

“What are you doing?!” the kid exclaims, ignoring Roman’s explanation. He sounds mad. Roman rolls his eyes.

“What does it  _look_  like I’m doing? I’m fighting off the lava monster.”

“That’s stupid.”

Roman thinks for a moment about throwing his stick at him. But then he’d have lost his sword, and it was his only defending weapon against the monster. Instead, he scowls at the kid below on the ground. “You’re stupid.”

The other kid glares at him for a long moment. “I’m going to tell Mr. Picani.” Mr. Picani was the recess monitor. Roman refuses to back down, staring at the other child intently until he eventually turns on his heels and storms off towards the adult over by the swingset.

Roman groans loudly before jumping to the ground, staring at the kid in the hoodie as he walked away. Why did he have to go and ruin the fun?

…

_Present._

Virgil squeezes his hand, pulling Roman back from his thoughts. Roman smiles, bringing his boyfriend’s hand up and kissing his knuckles lightly. His heart flutters a little at the soft blush that spreads across his boyfriend’s cheeks at the gesture.

“Are you ready?” Logan asks. “We don’t want to be late for the reservation.”

“Right,” Roman says, not taking his eyes off of Virgil even as he lets their hands drop. “I’m driving, right?”

“I believe that was the plan, yes,” Logan replies. “But should the need arise, I would not mind taking on that responsibility.”

Roman shakes his head. “Not necessary,” he says, finally taking his gaze off of the curve of Virgil’s lips, the angle of his jaw, the slope of his nose. “Shall we, everyone?”

Patton laughs lightly, slipping his arm around Logan’s. “We shall.” He grins. “This is gonna be so fun!”

Roman tries to not let the smile falter as he feels Virgil extract his hand from his own. “Most certainly,” he says. “Senior prom is going to be lit.”

“ _Lit_?” Logan repeats, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

Roman rolls his eyes. “Look it up on Urban Dictionary, School House Flop.”

Logan pulls out his phone to do precisely that as the four of them file through the doorway, waving to Logan’s dads as they remind the four of them to be safe, have fun, and call if they need anything. Roman feels a small twinge of envy as Patton and Logan keep their fingers entwined as they cross the lawn to Roman’s car on the street. Virgil sticks by Roman’s side, jumping into the front passenger seat, but they don’t touch one another.

Roman isn’t ‘out’ yet. In the back of his mind, he wonders if he might still be in the closet if it wasn’t for what had happened to Virgil. He remembers the day clearly. It was also the first time Roman had witnessed one of his panic attacks in person.

…

_October. Sophomore year._

Roman feels his phone buzz in his pocket in the middle of Chemistry. He exchanges a quick glance with Logan across the classroom, arching a silent eyebrow. Logan nods almost imperceptibly. He’d gotten a text too, which meant it was probably Patton or Virgil. And Patton was in American History where he was giving a group presentation. As a general rule, the four of them rarely used their phones during school but after Virgil told them about his struggle with anxiety, they all had agreed to have them on their person just in case Virgil needed help.

If Virgil was texting them in the middle of class, it meant he needed help.

Logan seems to reach the same conclusion. He raises his hand, grabbing the teacher’s attention.

“Uh, yes, Logan?” the teacher says.

“To calculate the molarity of a solution when the solute is given in grams and the volume of the solution is given in milileters—“

Roman tunes out the question and uses the evident distraction to his advantage as he fishes the phone out of his pocket, glancing down. He’s right. It’s a text from Virgil, and one letter: “Q”. Any single letter from Virgil meant that he needed some help. In the few instances where it had been necessary, Virgil had always sent a letter on the edge of the text keyboard because his hands were usually shaking too hard to type out much else.

Roman’s hand shoots straight up in the air as he slips the phone back into his pocket. The teacher casts a faintly surprised look. “You have a question, Roman?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

The teacher gives him a tired look but nods. “Sure.”

Roman has to keep himself from sprinting out of the room. His mind is racing. Virgil has a free period, which he usually spent in the theatre working on sets even though  _technically_  he wasn’t allowed to. The theatre would be empty, so he’d probably stay there, right? He figures it’s worth a shot. Roman sends a quick text to the group:

R: on my way, V.

He hurries down the stairs around the corner, checking the hallway quickly before he pulls the door to the theater open and slips inside. It thuds heavily behind him. Roman’s wide, worried eyes scan the empty rows of seats and the stage—also empty save for the half-constructed set pieces. There’s no sign of the teen, and Roman wonders if maybe he guessed wrong.

“Virgil?” Roman calls, feeling his stomach twist with concern. He starts his way down the aisle towards the stage, seeing an abandoned screwdriver and set of paintbrushes next to a paint tray. The paint is still wet, and the only techie who worked on the set during the school day was Virgil. Even if he wasn’t still here, he had been recently.

Roman jumps up on the stage. “Virge? You still here?”

He hears soft fabric rustling, the curtains moving in the corner of his eye. Roman’s head swivels over instinctively. Virgil is looking at him with wide eyes, his hood pulled low and tight over his sweep of bangs. Even in the shadows of the stage wing, Roman can see he’s white as a sheet. Slowly, Virgil lowers himself to the floor.

“Whoa, Virge. It’s okay,” Roman says softly, crossing over to him slowly so as to not startle him. “You’re okay.”

Virgil shakes his head. “N-No, I… I…” As Roman gets closer, he can hear the other’s breathing. It’s fast and shallow.

“Hey,” Roman says, doing his best to keep his voice calm and quiet as he kneels in front of him. “Take a deep breath.” Though he’d known that Virgil had anxiety and occasionally suffered from panic attacks, he’d never actually been around to witness one. He tries to think back to when Patton and Logan had talked about their experiences in helping Virgil. What had they done? What had they said seemed to work?

Virgil shakes his head again. “I  _can’t_.” His voice sounds tight and strained.

“You’re gonna be okay, Virge,” Roman repeats.  _What was that breathing exercise again?_ It clicks in his head a second later. “Breathe with me, okay? We’re gonna breathe together. In for four seconds. Ready?”

“Ro-Roman,” Virgil says, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment.

“Just try, okay?” Roman says gently. “I’ll count. You don’t have to keep track, I’ll do that. Breathe in first. Okay? One…” Roman counts to four aloud, watching Virgil carefully. He tries, but he’s exhaling by the time Roman reaches three.

“Sorry,” Virgil grits out. “Sorry, it’s…”

“No, that’s okay.” Roman is about to encourage him to try again when a quiet  _zzzt_  interrupts him. Virgil’s breath catches slightly and Roman realizes suddenly that the teen has his phone in a death grip in his shaking hands. A small crease appears between Roman’s brows as he frowns. Virgil seems to be shaking even harder. And though Roman isn’t sure why, he has the vague feeling that he really should get Virgil away from his phone.

He remembers Logan saying something about how some people used their phone to communicate during a panic attack if they went nonverbal, or used it as a distraction to calm back down. Roman also knew Virgil sometimes used it in that way, too. But he can’t ignore the gut feeling that something is different about this time. Virgil isn’t using his phone so much as crushing it in his hand. And whatever notification had just came through seems to have made everything worse.

“Virgil,” Roman says, shifting tentatively closer. “Can I touch you?”

He hesitates, then nods. Roman holds his hands up towards him slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Y-yeah,” Virgil says, nodding again with more certainty.

Roman moves slowly, reaching for Virgil’s hand that was wrapped around his phone. “Can you let go of this? Just for a moment.” Virgil’s fingers uncurl reluctantly from around the phone, and Roman smiles encouragingly at him as the phone drops into the young actor’s outstretched palm. He slips the phone into his own pocket. “If you need it,” Roman assures him, “I’ll give it back right away. Okay? But here.” He takes Virgil’s now empty hand and holds it against the center of his chest. “Let’s try to breathe together again, okay?”

It takes them a while. Roman breathes evenly—in for four seconds, hold for seven seconds, out for eight seconds—with Virgil’s palm pressed against his heartbeat. He can feel Virgil’s phone buzzing every few minutes in his pocket. He ignores it. Eventually, though, Roman notices Virgil’s breath getting less shaky as he is increasingly more able to inhale, hold, and exhale for the same amount of time Roman is. His color starts to come back to him gradually.  Roman keeps the exercise going for a bit longer even after Virgil seems to have evened out, just to help ground Virgil a bit more.

“There ya go,” Roman tells him softly. Virgil swallows and leans his head back against the black brick of the wall behind him, his hand still against Roman’s chest. Roman doesn’t push it away. “You did great, Virge.”

Virgil scrubs a hand across his eyes, smearing his makeup. “God, you missed the rest of Chem, didn’t you?”

Roman waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. It was just exam prep anyway, and Logan can help me if I get confused.”

Virgil gives him a skeptical look but it’s overshadowed by a deep exhaustion and lingering fear that makes Roman frown. Virgil’s eyes fall to his hand against Roman’s chest. He feels some pressure let up on his chest as if Virgil is going to pull away, but he doesn’t. “Sorry, Roman,” he says quietly, averting his gaze. “I guess I owe you an explanation, huh?”

Roman feels Virgil’s phone buzz again in his pocket. He ignores it again and shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything. Unless you want to talk about it.”

There’s a long, heavy silence.

“I was outed.” Virgil’s words ring clear despite how quiet his voice is.

Roman stares at him. “ _What_?”

Virgil’s eyes flash back up to Roman’s. He doesn’t repeat it, but he doesn’t need to. Roman knows what he said, he just can’t believe it.

Roman’s thoughts race ahead of him and the questions tumble out of his mouth before he can think to stop them. “Who to? Your parents? A teacher? The tech crew?”

“Pretty much everyone,” Virgil says, the bitterness overtaking the fear for a moment.

Roman blinks a few times. “Who outed you?” The only people who knew Virgil was gay was himself, Logan, and Patton. And he knows with absolute certainty that none of them would do that. Logan and Patton may be out already, but they’d never out someone else. Roman feels a cold, sharp anger settle in his chest.

Virgil looks at him tiredly. “Does it really matter who, Roman?”

“Yes,” Roman answers immediately. “It matters to me.”

“Why? Gonna beat them up or something?” There’s a faint note of amusement in his voice. Roman doesn’t understand it. There is nothing remotely funny about this.

“Don’t tempt me,” Roman growls.

“Roman.”

“I mean… shit, Virgil,”  Roman says, running a hand through his hair. “How’d they…?”

Virgil looks away again, the faint smile falling from his face. “Remember Jonathan?”

He does. It was a false name, he knew, but Jonathan was what Virgil had been calling the guy he was interested in. They’d been texting for almost two weeks.  _Texting_. Roman’s stomach drops. Had someone gotten ahold of Virgil’s phone?

“Virgil…”

Virgil grits his teeth, then shakes his head. “The worst part is that he was in on it, Roman. The whole thing, right from the start, was a fucking set-up.” Almost as if on cue, Roman hears the  _zzzt_  of Virgil’s phone buzzing in his pocket. Virgil gives him a dry, vaguely pained smile. “Been getting notifications nonstop ever since they emailed it out to most of the student body. It’s been on Snapchat. Twitter. Hell, probably even Facebook by this point.”

Roman’s hand balls into a fist before he forces it to relax. He’s  _furious_. But not at Virgil, and he doesn’t want to scare him. “We’ll get them to take it down.”

Virgil sighs, and this time he just sounds tired and defeated “It’s a little too late for that, Ro.”

A dozen and a half threats against Jonathan and his friends flashes through Roman’s mind, each more creative than the last. But he takes one look at Virgil—the tired eyes and anxious set to his jaw—and the fight bleeds out of him for now. Roman gently places his hand on Virgil’s knee.

“Hey,” he says, his voice suddenly softer. “You’ll get through this. I’ve got your back. We all do.”

Virgil nods. “Y-yeah. I know.”

…

_Present._

Dinner, Roman has to admit, is a lot of fun.

Some of it is spent with Logan going on an admittedly amusing tangent about how slang was in itself ‘indicative of the ambiguity of language and its increasing complexity as a social phenomenon’. Somewhere along the way, Virgil and Logan get into a friendly debate about conspiracy theories. Patton makes, by Roman’s count, no less than eight food related puns before desert arrives. Roman laughs and smiles throughout the entire meal, his smile softening just a little every time he sees that rare, bright look in Virgil’s eyes.

_God, he’s so lucky._

Logan scribbles his signature on his and Patton’s check, then glances at the watch on his wrist. “Well, it’s almost eight.”

“We should probably get going,” Virgil says.

Roman nods, finishing the signature on his own check with a flourishing pen stroke. “As you wish,” he replies, glancing up long enough to make quick eye contact with his boyfriend across the table.

“Was that a  _Princess Bride_  reference?” Patton asks, sounding surprised.

It was. Roman smiles and hums with feigned innocence. He stands up from the table, leading the way out of the restaurant and holding the door open for the other three. There’s something soft in Virgil’s eyes this time when they meet Roman’s as he passes through the doorway.

For a brief, fleeting moment, Roman has the sudden desire to wrap his arms around Virgil’s waist, pull him close, and kiss him. Kissing Virgil never failed to make Roman feel light, sending his stomach doing somersaults and his heart soaring. Even if those moments were rare and private, he’d always cherished them. That first night he kissed Virgil was still seared into his memory, signaling a permanent change between them that had led, eventually, to this moment right now.

…

_May. Junior Year._

Roman’s hand brushes against Virgil’s, smiling to himself when his long fingers deftly fold between Roman’s. It sends a small flutter up through his stomach and he’s grateful for the cover of the dark. He takes in a deep breath of the warm night air, glancing at Virgil beside him. His eyes are trained on the lights of the city in the distance. They catch and twinkle in Virgil’s dark eyes even as he slowly leans his head against Roman’s shoulder.

“Gotta admit,” he says, “this was one of your better ideas, Princey.”

Roman snorts even as he leans his nuzzles lightly against the top of Virgil’s hair. “I’m glad,” he says with a faint note of amusement in his voice.

They lapse into silence, filled mostly with the sound of crickets and distant traffic from below. Up here on the hill overlooking their small town, Roman felt at once small and larger than life. Most of his attention, however, was on the warmth and pressure of the teen beside him. His heart skips over itself in his chest at his soft sweep of hair, the soft rise and fall of his breath against him, at the way his eyelashes move when he lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment. Roman swallows and licks his lips, turning his gaze back to the city lights when he sees Virgil glance up at him.

There’s another long beat of silence. “Do you ever think about the future?” Virgil asks suddenly, his voice subdued.

The question startles Roman, but he doesn’t pull away from Virgil against his side. “What about the future?”

Virgil lifts a shoulder. Roman sees him worrying the hem of the sleeve of his hoodie between his fingers, his other hand still entwined with Roman’s. “I don’t know. Anything.”

The corner of Roman’s mouth curls up faintly. “A lot of the times, the future is the only thing I can think about,” he confesses.

“Does it ever… scare you?”

“Sometimes,” Roman replies honestly. He lightly brushes his thumb in against the back of Virgil’s hand. “Does it scare  _you_?” he asks gently.

Virgil releases a breathy, humorless laugh. “Always.”

The honesty twists something in Roman’s chest. “Why?”

“Because…” Virgil sighs and pulls away. Roman feels an abrupt sense of absence as his heat and the pressure of his body vanishes from his side. “Because… it means things change.”

Roman tilts his head slightly even as Virgil pulls his knees up closer to his chest and rests his chin on top of them. “Is change such a bad thing?”

“It’s complicated,” he says slowly, like he’s testing the words on his tongue before he voices them. Virgil glances at him out of the corner of his eyes through his long bangs.

Roman curls his hand into a loose fist against the sudden urge to brush them away. His heart jumps suddenly at the words. There’s a weight to them, and Roman suddenly wonders if he might be talking about something more specific. About… them. “Does it have to be?” he asks carefully.

“Change means losing what you have,” Virgil replies. “What if you can’t bear the thought?”

Roman shakes his head, leaning closer to the other teen. “Change can also mean holding on even tighter.”

Virgil’s eyes flash over to him and Roman’s stomach flips at the intense gaze. “It can also tear things apart. Squeeze a bar of soap too tight and it slips right out of your hands.”

 _I wouldn’t do that you_ , Roman wants to say. He swallows the words down. “Then those weren’t the things worth holding onto,” Roman insists softly.

Virgil’s gaze flickers over Roman’s face like he’s searching for something. He doesn’t pull away from Roman’s closer proximity. “How do you know?” he asks quietly.

Suddenly, their noses are mere inches from brushing against each other. Roman can feel his heart pounding fast in his ribcage, his eyes fluttering closed.

“ _Trust me_ ,” he pleas in a whisper.

And then Roman’s lips are brushing against Virgil’s. The kiss is soft and feather-light. Careful, his heart beat skipping in his chest. It only lasts a moment before Roman is pulling back, opening his eyes and searching Virgil’s face for any kind of reaction. Had he crossed a line? He hadn’t even really meant to kiss him, but then he just… Oh God. He should have asked first, right? Roman’s stomach won’t stop doing flips. He feels faintly dizzy.

Virgil is just sitting there, his eyes fluttering open a moment after Roman. It’s hard to read his expression in the dark but he doesn’t say anything and Roman heart constricts.  _You’ve ruined everything_.

“Virgil, I… I’m so sorry, I…”

The words die on his tongue as Virgil’s hand cups his jaw and suddenly the other boy’s lips are against his again, firmer and more certain this time. Roman wonders if it’s possible for his heart to burst as he sinks into the kiss.

…

_Present._

When the four walk into the school gym, they sign in quickly with the teacher at the check in table before stepping further into the room. The theme had been  _A Night in Paris_ , and the gym was decorated with stills from the French city and strings of lights in the rafters. A heavy bass pop song blares from the speakers.

“Oh, there’s Eliot,” Patton says excitedly. “C’mon, Lo, let’s go say hi.” He’s dragging his boyfriend along before Logan could even think to protest.

Virgil hovers by Roman’s side in such a way that feels like he’s hyper aware of not wanting to stand  _too_  close. Roman suddenly hates the distance between them.

“Hey, guys!” a voice from behind them says. Roman looks over his shoulder to see Valerie—fellow theatre girl, and also the class president—in a royal blue gown.

“Hey, Valerie. You look beautiful as ever,” Roman says sincerely.

“Oh, thank you so much. No date tonight, Roman?” she asks.

Something uneasy shifts in Roman’s stomach as he answers her. “Not tonight.” He gives her a bright, entirely false smile. “What can I say, this Prince is on a solo quest for right now.”

 _Wrong wrong wrong wrong_. Roman wants to look at Virgil, hope that he can see how much he doesn’t mean the words, how much they hurt to say… but he forces himself to keep eye contact with the girl in front of him.

Valerie gives him a sweet and sincere smile. “Good for you, Roman. No shame in that.” She looks at Virgil. “It’s so great to see you, Virge.”

Virgil gives her a kind, polite smile in return. “You too, Val.”

“Valerie!” another girl—Dahlia, Roman remembers her from freshman year English—calls out, grabbing her attention.

“Oh, I guess that’s me. I should go say hi. You both look great. Have fun tonight!” She rushes off before Roman can respond. The young actor slips his hands into his pockets and finally glances at Virgil. He hopes Virgil can read the apology, the emotion, in his eyes.

Virgil just gives him a patient, reassuring look in turn. Roman breathes a sigh and tries to swallow down the guilt. Virgil had always been reassuring for him, often more than he felt he deserved.

…

_November. Senior Year._

Roman sighs and slams his locker closed. The metallic clang makes heads turn, and Roman pointedly ignores them, shouldering his backpack.

“Whoa,” Patton says from behind him. “Something wrong, Ro?” Roman turns around to see both Patton and Logan looking at him. Patton’s brows are drawn together in concern. Logan purses his lips as he looks at Roman thoughtfully.

Roman forces a tight smile at the expressions of concern. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m good.”

“Your behavior indicates otherwise,” Logan replies.

The aspiring actor rolls his eyes. “Just drop it, okay? I’m fine.” He falls into step with his two friends, a pace or two ahead of them.

“Falsehood.”

“Logan,” Patton says, placating. Then, behind him, Roman hears Patton add, “Roman… you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but… we’re always here if you do.”

A harsh retort dies in his throat. Roman swallows, adjusting the strap of his backpack as he slows to a stop outside his English classroom. Patton and Logan stop beside him. Logan looks expectant. Patton has his eyebrows slightly raised in anticipation, a soft and sympathetic look in his eyes.

Roman sighs. “Mom and Dad came home last night,” he says quietly. He sees understanding dawn in both of his friend’s eyes. He continues. “We… talked about college. It didn’t go well. That’s it, okay?” he says, sounding more tired than angry. The information is, perhaps, an incomplete truth. But the bell is about to ring, and Roman  _really_  doesn’t want to get into it right now anyway.

He’s still trying to block out the sound of his dad’s voice from the night before.  _What, you’re gonna prance around in tights your entire life? Man up, Roman. Be realistic._

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Patton says quietly. He opens his mouth to say more, but the warning bell rings through the hallway.

With a quiet, apologetic look to Roman, Logan nudges Patton’s shoulder and nods down the hall. “We’ve gotta get to World History.”

Patton purses his lips, glancing at Logan and then worriedly looking back at Roman. “We’ll talk at lunch?”

Roman does his best to give a reassuring smile in return. “Sure.”

He ducks into the classroom as Logan and Patton head down the hallway. Roman grabs his seat towards the back of the room, fishing a notebook and his copy of  _Hamlet_  out of his backpack as the teacher greets the class and walks through the agenda for the day. The aspiring actor did his best to pay attention, helped slightly by the fact that Roman did quite enjoy Shakespeare most of the time. Shakespeare was poetry in action, and it had always been easy for Roman to visualize how it would play out on stage when given a script.

Despite himself, though, Roman finds his mind wandering back to his parents and the argument they’d had the night before. His parents had never been around much. Roman had never felt like they were really part of his life, so why did they think they had a right to control what he did with it? His dad’s detached voice echoes in his head.  _These prissy daydreams of yours needs to stop, son. You’re gonna be a grown man soon._

Roman had snapped right back at him.  _What do you know?! You’ve never even been to a performance!_

“Mr. Prince?” The teacher’s voice calling his name snaps his attention. At his wide, lost look, the teacher nods to his copy of  _Hamlet_. “Could you read starting at line 98? We’re in scene five.”

Roman nods, flipping a few pages and clearing his throat. “Oh. Yeah. Um… ‘Yea, from the table of my memory/I’ll wipe away all trivial fond records/All saws of books, all forms, all pressures of past/that youth and observation copied there/and thy commandment all alone shall live/within the book and volume of my brain/unmixed with baser matter. Yes, by heaven!’”

“Excellent job. Thank you, Roman,” the teacher says. “Can you explain to the class what is happening in these lines?”

Roman skims the text again and swallows hard before responding. “Hamlet feels pressured by his dad, so he agrees to do whatever his dad tells him because he loves him.”

“Yes, exactly,” the teacher praises, and then addresses the class. “Can anyone remind us what exactly the ghost of his father is asking him to do?”

Roman tunes out of the conversation again. He’s already well familiar with Hamlet, seeing as how he’d played Laertes freshman year when the high school had performed it. A small part of him had always identified more with Hamlet though. Is that what he’s destined to do? Hamlet’s quest to fulfill the wishes of his father had led him towards his undoing. Throughout the entire play, Hamlet is told in no uncertain terms to stop being so expressive in his emotion.

Roman again thinks back to the night before.  _Oh, quit crying, Roman. Don’t be so dramatic._

The young teen jumps slightly when the bell rings again, but he quickly shoves his books into his backpack and tugs the zipper closed. With third period over, Roman knows he ought to head to the cafeteria for lunch. But instead, as he makes his way through the hallways and down the stairs, he soon finds himself at the door to the theater. He opens it without really thinking and slips inside.

It’s abruptly quiet. The door clicks closed behind him. The stage is stripped—they had just finished a production of  _Bye, Bye Birdie_ —and stands empty with the houselights up. Roman takes in a deep, calming breath of the smell of dust, wood, and paint. An odd, aching pain gives a small tug in his chest. Slowly, he makes his way down the aisle of seats towards the stage. He sets his backpack on the ground before hoisting himself up and sitting on the edge of the stage thrust.

Roman doesn’t know what to do.

He groans and lays back on the stage floor. Why does he even care what his parents think? They didn’t know him. They might as well be strangers given how little Roman actually saw them. Weeks would pass between him seeing them, and it had been that way for as long as he could remember. When he was small, he got used to seeing babysitters cycled through every few days. Rarely was there a consistent face in his life before he made friends with Logan and Patton in the first grade, and then Virgil in high school. His parents hadn’t seemed to care when Roman tried sports, and cared even less when he started getting involved in theatre in middle school. Meanwhile, Logan and Patton and (later on) Virgil had come to nearly every performance and game Roman had been a part of.

One time, in eighth grade, Roman ran away to Patton’s house. He still doesn’t know to this day if his parents ever noticed.

When he’d started secretly dating Virgil, he had started to believe he could be  _worthy_  of someone. Roman had always believed that was more a testament to who Virgil was than himself. But last night had been an ice cold bucket of reality. His parents didn’t believe in him. What did that say about him? The answer is simple: Roman is unremarkable. Not enough for even his own parents.

What makes him think he’s enough for anyone else, especially Virgil?

“Hey.” A voice startles him out of his thoughts, his eyes flying open. He hadn’t even heard the door open. Virgil is standing above him, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

“Virgil,” Roman says, surprised. He sits up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, hey.”

Virgil gives him a long look that Roman doesn’t return before shrugging out of his backpack and taking a seat beside the teen actor. “Thought I might find you here.”

Roman busies his hands by fiddling pretending to examine his nails. “Yeah?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Virgil nod. “When you didn’t show up for lunch, Pat and Lo got worried.”

Roman groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. He’d completely forgotten that he told them he’d talk to them during lunch. “Sorry.”

“Need to talk about it?” Virgil replies, his voice just a touch softer. It’s with that rare gentleness that always made a small part of Roman melt.

Roman doesn’t answer right away, torn between the part of himself that feels so completely unworthy of this boy sitting beside him and another part that wants to hold onto him and never let go. “Mom and Dad came home last night,” he says eventually.

Whatever kind of reaction Virgil has to the news stays off his face. “Ah,” he says.

“Things didn’t… go well,” Roman elaborates hesitantly. “It wasn’t any huge thing. Just… they asked me about college. They’re not… fans of what I had in mind.”  _If you’re gonna insist on doing that gay-ass shit, I’m not paying for it,_ his father had told him with an icy glare.

“They don’t get to decide what you do with your life,” Virgil tells him, an edge of protectiveness slipping through. “Especially when they haven’t been involved in it much at all.”

Roman lifts a dismissive shoulder even as his eyes burn slightly. “Yeah, no. I know that.”

Virgil sighs. “Roman.”

“What?”

Roman feels Virgil’s long, slender fingers cover his own. “Look at me?” He takes in a deep, slow breath and lets his eyes flicker up to meet his boyfriend’s. There’s a sincerity, an intensity, in his gaze that catches Roman off guard. “I’ve got your back.”

Roman shakes his head quickly.  _I don’t deserve you_.  “Why’d you settle for me?” Roman asks suddenly and earnestly.

Something flashes through Virgil’s eyes. “Who says I’m settling?”

Roman shakes his head and looks away. “Virge, I mean… you’re…” He releases a breath. “You’re strong and resilient and loyal and… God, Virge, you’re a walking masterpiece. I’m just…  _me_.”

Virgil’s hand grips Roman’s a little harder. “Stop. Roman…” He sighs. “You’re better at… at words than I am. But… you’re incredibly talented. And dedicated. And so, so creative. Every time I see you up on that stage doing what you love, it’s…it’s… amazing. Roman, you’re kind and courageous in ways I could never be. And if your parents can’t see that, it’s their loss. Because knowing you has been… it’s been one of the best things to happen to me.”

Roman’s throat closes up, averting his gaze to look at their entwined hands. Virgil squeezes it softly before continuing. “Roman, I didn’t settle for you. I  _chose_  you.”

He vision blurs suddenly, and he opens his mouth to respond when the sound of the theatre doors opening interrupts them. Both of them jump and pull their hands away instinctively. Roman looks up, relaxing when he sees Logan and Patton walking towards them.

Roman reaches out and takes Virgil’s hand again.

…

_Present._

As the night goes on, Roman finds himself increasingly hating the distance between him and Virgil. Even though he can see him, something in Roman’s chest aches to physically touch him. To slip his hand into Virgil’s and never let go. To wrap his arms around him, crush him against his chest in a hug, breathe in the scent of his hair. The ache weighs increasingly heavier throughout the night. When Virgil discretely brushes his arm against Roman’s at the snack table, he swallows down the urge to lean into the touch.

Virgil seems patient. Roman, on the other hand….

Their mutual friend Remy sidles up to Virgil and pulls him into the Cupid Shuffle; line dances were about the most dancing Virgil generally would do, as it was easy to blend into the crowd and the steps were already decided for you.

Patton seems to materialize beside Roman as he watches his classmates dance. “You okay, kiddo?”

Roman jumps slightly before recovering. “Yeah. I’m good, Pat.”

Patton follows his gaze to Virgil. “Can’t say I expected Virgil to be doing more dancing that you tonight, Ro.”

Roman shrugs and takes a sip of water. If he’s being honest, there’s only one person he really wants to dance with tonight, and he can’t. He locks gazes with Patton, who seems to soften with understanding. He gives Roman a sympathetic smile and grabs a cookie at the table beside them.

“Try to have fun tonight, okay?” Patton asks. “Be yourself. If you can do that, things will feel okay in one way or another.”

 _Be yourself_ , Roman thinks dryly.  _Right. Way to make it sound easy, Pat._

The song comes to an end and Virgil lingers on the outskirts of the dance floor, chatting idly with Remy. Roman watches him, love swelling in his chest even as it tightens with the repeating knowledge that all he wants to do is dance with that amazing, incredibly handsome boy right there and he  _can’t_.

Roman remembers vividly the first time they’d said ‘I love you’ to one another.

…

_July. Before Senior Year._

It had become almost a tradition for the four boys to play some kind of board game or card game to pass the time between school ending and the start of opening night for the musical. This time, the summer show was  _The Music Man_ , and the board game at their disposal was Catan. They’d found a quiet corner of the otherwise deserted library. Even the librarian had gone home after getting some summer work done, having a particular fondness for these four boys and electing to trust them to not wreak too much havoc.

Roman gasps dramatically as Virgil and Logan exchange resource cards. “You’re trading with  _Logan_?” he demands.

Virgil arcs an eyebrow. “What? He has sheep, and I need sheep.”

“ _I_  have sheep! And I needed wheat, which I know you have,” Roman argues, his tone much more teasing than actually angry.

Logan adjusts the frame of his glasses. “Roman, you are still in the lead given that you have the Longest Road. It was a well-calculated strategic move to avoid trading with you. Especially when you are only two victory points away from winning.”

“I’ll trade with you when it’s my turn, Roman,” Patton offers.

“Do you have wheat?” Roman pleads.

Patton scratches the back of his neck. “I, uh… no. I have lots of brick, though.”

“I believe it’s still my turn anyway?” Virgil cuts in. “Roman, if you have wood I can give you some wheat.”

“I can give you sheep.”

“I already got sheep from Logan.”

Roman pauses. “I can give you  _two_  sheep.”

Patton bites back a smile. “He said…  _sheep_ -ishly.”

Logan groans as Patton giggles to himself at his own joke. Virgil looks thoughtfully at his cards, ignoring the pun, then across the table at Roman. “You really don’t have any wood?”

“I’ll give you _three_  sheep! I’m drowning in sheep. All I want is one wheat, Virge.” Roman flutters his eyelashes. “C’mon, just for me?”

“Are you actually  _flirting_  with your boyfriend right now just so he’ll give you a resource?” Logan asks Roman, incredulous. Faintly alarmed at the potential for Roman to win, Logan turns to Virgil. “Virgil, I strongly encourage you to turn the offer down. A wheat will permit him to draw another Development Card. I already strongly suspect that the one he has yet to reveal is a Victory Point—“ Roman scoffs at the insinuation (precisely because Logan is entirely correct)— “But allowing him to draw another could also garner him Largest Army, and thereby win the game.”

The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirks upwards in amusement at Logan’s desperation. “Relax, Lo. I’m not gonna trade him.” Logan relaxes back in his chair. “Because I’m gonna build some things.” In a flurry of card and piece movement, Virgil shifts things around the board. “I’m gonna build two cities here, and a settlement here in the middle of Roman’s road, thereby blocking it.”

With a cocky smirk that made Roman flush slightly, Virgil took Roman’s “Longest Road” card and placed it in front of himself. With his road interrupted in the middle, Virgil now had a longer road than Roman did.

“And here’s two more Victory Points,” Virgil continues, flipping up his own unrevealed Development Cards. “So… That’s ten, right?”

Logan’s mouth moves silently as he counts it up, then sags in his chair in defeat. “Yes. Virgil wins.”

“This betrayal will not stand, my dark and stormy night!” Roman announces dramatically and teasingly. “I will not soon forget this painful twist of the knife. I will hold this grudge to my dying breath, mark my words.”

“Love you too, Princey,” Virgil quips dryly, and then Roman swears the entire world stops for a moment.

Did… did he really just say…?  _Did Virgil just say he loves you?_  The words repeat in Roman’s mind a few times over. Virgil had never said that before. Ever. Roman can feel his face heating up, his thoughts tripping over themselves. Virgil’s face flames red under Roman’s wide stare and he averts his gaze, busying himself by sorting the remaining cards and stacking them back in the box.

 _Virgil just said he loves you_ , Roman thinks again. He blinks a few times and starts assisting with putting the game away. Did he even mean it? Virgil had never said it before even in that half-teasing way he had just now, but… he  _had_  sounded like he was teasing. So did Virgil really mean it? Roman had been wanting to say it to Virgil for a while now, but he had been afraid that doing so would make Virgil feel pressured to say or feel something he didn’t. Roman didn’t want to ever make him uncomfortable.

But still.  _Virgil just said he loves you_. Is that sign? Roman doesn’t know. But he can’t quite help the lighter feeling in his chest. The aching desire to say it back.

Patton glances at his phone just as Logan slides the top of the box. His eyes widen suddenly. “Oh, yikes, kiddos. I’m late for the production crew meeting. I gotta run.” He jumps out of his seat, kissing Logan’s cheek before running out of the library.

Logan stands and walks away to put the board game away. Roman looks at Virgil, feeling his heart sink a little when Virgil still doesn’t look up.

“Virge?” he asks softly.

“I do, you know,” Virgil says suddenly, glancing up to meet his gaze. There’s something wide and vulnerable in them. “Love you.”

Roman gives him a soft, deliriously happy smile. “I love you too, Virge.”

…

_Present._

An hour or so later, Roman, Virgil, Logan, and Patton stand towards the back of the gym as the teacher announces the Prom Queen and King. Patton and Logan’s hands are entwined, Patton’s head on Logan’s shoulder. Virgil has his arms crossed over his chest. Roman slips his hands into his pockets as if it might stifle the sudden urge he has to hold onto Virgil’s. He takes a few steps towards the drink table when the teacher’s announcement slices through the air.

“And your Prom King is… Roman Prince!”

Roman freezes in surprise for a moment. “What?” he asks, before feeling a gentle nudge in his back.

He glances over his shoulder to see Patton giving him an encouraging smile. Roman smiles a bit, the initial shock giving way to flattery as he makes his way to the stage to the sound of applause. A few people clap his shoulder as he passes through the crowd. The Prom Queen, Valerie, is already on stage and is grinning at Roman as he jumps up to join her.

The young actor feels the drama teacher—one of the chaperones for the night—drape a red sash around his shoulders. She gives Roman a warm smile and congratulates him. The stage lights are bright. Roman’s gaze floats back to his friends where Logan is clapping, Patton appears to be cheering, and Virgil now has his hands in his pockets. The corner of his mouth quirks up in one of those faint smiles that never failed to make Roman’s stomach flutter.

“And now, our Prom Queen and King will dance with their respective dates. If… they brought any,” the drama teacher adds with a curious look to Roman.

Roman Prince feels his heart suddenly start pounding in his chest, his stomach squirming.

 _Be yourself_ , Patton had told him earlier that night.

Roman watches as Valerie’s date steps into the small clearing of people that had formed around them. The young teen scans the crowd when his eyes land solely on Virgil in the back. Roman can’t quite read his expression anymore.

Roman shakes his head and shoulders his way through the crowd. He’s tired of hiding. He’s tired of feeling like he should be ashamed of who he is. He isn’t.

He ignores the questions and whispers around him as he makes a beeline for his boyfriend. Before long, Roman stands in front of Virgil with the entire crowd’s eyes watching his back. Roman takes in a deep breath, gives Virgil’s wide eyes a soft look of reassurance, and extends his hand.

“Could I have this dance, Virgil?” Nerves clutch at his chest as he asks.

Virgil swallows. He glances around the room, at the crowd watching them intently. “Roman….” His eyes flit up to lock briefly onto his boyfriend, his eyes searching and uncertain. Slowly, he places his hand in Roman’s and nods.

The single touch melts away the last of Roman’s buzzing nerves in his stomach. He releases a breathy laugh and leads Virgil back to the center of the dance floor before letting his hand fall to his waist and keeping their other hand clasped together. Virgil’s hand falls to Roman’s shoulder.

“Roman,” Virgil says under his breath. “Are you sure about this?”

“I have never been more sure of anything, my dark and stormy night,” Roman responds, his heart racing for an entirely different reason now as he gazes down into his eyes. “I’m tired of hiding. I’m not ashamed of you. Of me. Of us.”

Roman sways softly with Virgil, totally enraptured with this incredible, brave, and protective young man in his arms. Virgil shakes his head a moment later. “I just… I don’t want you to regret doing this on an impulse—“

“Sssshhh.” Roman smiles at him. “This moment with you is not something I could ever regret.”

Virgil releases a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. He glances down at their feet even as Roman dances him in slow circles. “Well, you’re definitely a Gryffindor.”

Roman grins and laughs a little, leaning his forehead against Virgil and feeling his heart swell. “Because this is chivalrous?”

“Because it’s reckless,” Virgil deadpans. Roman’s grin doesn’t falter as he pulls back to look into his eyes. The corner of Virgil’s mouth quirks a little. The bright look in his eyes fades a moment later.

Roman frowns. “What’s wrong, Virgil?”

Virgil lifts a shoulder. There’s a forced indifference behind it. “Nothing,” he says. “It’s just… well. People are probably going to just assume you’re doing this to be nice to me after what happened last year.” There’s a light teasing tone to the words, but there’s something in his eyes that gives Roman pause. Virgil is giving Roman an out in case he’s feeling regret. But he’s not. Maybe it’s silly and cliché but Roman feels light in a way he hasn’t in a very long time.

Dancing here with Virgil, not feeling like he has to hide anymore… Roman feels like he can breathe again.

“Wanna bet?” Roman challenges. Before he can think twice, he stops dancing and cups Virgil’s face gently with his hands and kisses him. The kiss is soft, gentle, and lingers for just a moment before Roman pulls back.

Virgil’s blush is bright underneath the bit of makeup he was wearing. Roman’s thumb traces his cheekbone. “I love you,” Roman tells him suddenly. He leans his forehead against Virgil’s again as his hands fall back to his boyfriend’s waist and closes his eyes.

“I-I…” Virgil takes in a breath and swallows. “I love you too,” he whispers in that soft, personal way. The way that whispers something unique and special underneath it.

Through everything, they had found each other and chose each other again and again. A kid in a dark hoodie had stepped into his life over ten years ago on the playground. Somewhere along the way, Roman had fallen slowly and completely in love with Virgil. And as the song plays on, Roman lets everyone else melt away into the background and finally— _finally_ —dances with him.


End file.
